


Whatever our souls are made of...

by qwertysweetea



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Courfeyrac and Cosette Fauchelevent are siblings, Courfeyrac and Cosette Fauchelevent are twins, Family Feels, Gen, Headcanon, Platonic Soulmates, Platonic love is the best kind, Self-Indulgent, Separated at Birth, Siblings, Twin bond things, Twins, lots of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:40:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28414773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qwertysweetea/pseuds/qwertysweetea
Summary: And she knew that holding the hand of a stranger for so long was indecent, but Courfeyrac wasn’t a stranger. Not really. She knew him. Every part of her knew him, without pause for thought and without an ounce of doubt in her heart.Cosette and Courfeyrac meet, and the world falls into place.[Headcanon: Cosette and Courfeyrac are twins]
Relationships: Courfeyrac & Cosette Fauchelevent
Kudos: 7





	Whatever our souls are made of...

**Author's Note:**

> My dumbass read "he was somewhat similar to Félix Tholomyès..." and ran with it. Somehow twins separated at birth made a Hell of a lot more sense when I considered that Tholomyès was exactly the type of arsehole who would have taken the boy back with him and left the girl.

The same blood, the same fractured soul– Cosette reasons that her soul recognised his long before she had the opportunity to look beyond his boyish posture and freshly laundered suit, and into a pair of eyes she last seen tear magnified and sorrowful, filled with motherly love and promise: promise she would do right by her, promise they would meet again.

Maybe this wasn’t what her mother had meant but maybe, Cosette allowed herself to imagine, just maybe it was what she had dared to dream.

Because no, there would be no proof, no confirmations; there was barely a chance beyond her own yearning for it to be, so innate it felt interwoven with ever threat of her being, calling upon the universe to bring it into existence… but Cosette knew her mother's eyes, even after the time and separation. Cosette knew the gentle touches of her mother’s feature, and the sharp touches her absent father had left on her.

Most of all Cosette just _knew_.

She looked on his face and saw herself reflected back; she saw a life she’d only dreamt of as a child waiting, waiting, waiting for her mother to return to her. She saw a brother, a family; she saw them living together under a crumbling roof, and the chiming laughter of children causing harmless mischief; the daydreams of a little girl watching sisters play as she clung with blistered hands onto broom and rag.

What were siblings to a child who had always been alone? Something granted by God; someone to share the world with in a way that no other person can. Cosette had felt alone her entire life. Beyond that, and in a series of thoughts she had left behind as she entered the transitional period between childhood and womanhood, it had felt less like that path had been closed to her and more like one she had been pulled off of.

In her youth, she had clung onto the hope that the chill against her side and the emptiness of her hand would one day be mended, that out there was a brother or a sister who she would find and embrace, another shard of her soul healed… and she would not feel so cold, and her hands would not feel empty, and her heart would not yearn.

And she knew that holding the hand of a stranger for so long was indecent, that the outside world was blind to her revelations and reflections, and the frantic pounding in her chest that accompanied them. But Courfeyrac wasn’t a stranger. Not really. She knew him. Every part of her knew him, without pause for thought and without an ounce of doubt in her heart.

Those eyes were her mother's; they both shared the almond shape she had given, and the way they crinkled shut as they smiled. Lips thin but smile bright, teeth crooked as though there were too many for his mouth. His round face, his prominent cheekbones, his broad shoulders, the tenderness of his grip on her hand, the fragility lurking under his expression. Everything in him was in her. His soul was hers. And her soul was his.

“It is wonderful to finally meet you, Monsieur.” The sincerity in her heart stops her voice from shaking, but there is something foreign, something beyond both glee and hope.

Breath taken in the way one dragged out of his own thoughts often are, Courfeyrac responded by clearing his throat and allowed the smile to break onto his face as he said “It is nice to finally meet you too” with sincerity to match Cosette’s own, and the unrelenting joy of a man who hadn’t realised a part of himself had been missing until the moment it stood in front of him, reflecting back at him his father’s smile and the face of a woman he’d only ever imagined.

Yes, she was his sister. And he was her brother. No other living being knew it, they did.

“How strange… the feeling that my life’s begun at last.”

**Author's Note:**

> What is Marius doing during this, you might ask. Most likely he's headbutting a tree.


End file.
